The Viscount's Veiled Lady (Whitby Weddings 3)

‘To both of us, I think.’ He lifted his hand again, a placatory gesture this time. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I know. That’s what everyone says.’

‘Ah.’ There seemed to be a depth of pain behind those words. ‘It doesn’t help much, does it? Sympathy, I mean.’

‘Not really. I appreciate the thought, but sympathy doesn’t fix anything. I have a scar. It can’t be wiped away or mended. It’s just how it is.’

‘And you just want to get on with your life?’

She looked surprised. ‘Yes.’

‘Meaning you don’t want to talk about it?’

‘No.’

‘Very well. In that case, Miss Webster, I believe we ought to concentrate on your ankle instead. If you’ll permit me to take a look?’

‘I really don’t think—’

‘But I do,’ he interrupted firmly. ‘This is my farmhouse and I intend to see that you’re properly tended to. Now it’s either me or a doctor and, if you’d prefer for nobody to know where you’ve been, I’d suggest you pick me. I can only answer for my own discretion.’

‘All right. You do it.’

‘Then may I?’

She opened her mouth as if to protest some more and then nodded instead, sitting very still as he reached down and lifted her foot carefully on to the stool beside him.

‘I’ll need to remove your boot.’ He looked up, already untying the laces, and she nodded again, her undamaged cheek a noticeably darker shade of pink than it had been a few moments before.

‘There.’ He slid her boot off and pressed his fingers around the swollen ankle, feeling the heat of the injury even through her stocking. ‘It’s not broken, but it’s a nasty sprain. It needs binding, but we’ll need to remove your undergarments first. I can do it if you...’

‘No!’ Her voice seemed to have leapt to a higher pitch. ‘I’ll do it. If you could just...?’

She made a spinning gesture and he turned around obediently, staring out into the hallway as he listened to the rustle of her petticoats behind. It was a strangely enticing sound, one he wasn’t accustomed to hearing, though as a rule he considered himself immune to the charms of womankind. He’d never been as enamoured of the entire female sex as his brother, had always considered himself a one-woman man, or at least he had before he’d decided he was better off on his own. Still, he couldn’t help but imagine the actions taking place just out of sight. She must be drawing her skirt up, untying her garter, rolling her stocking down...

‘Ready.’

‘Good.’ He cleared his throat before he spoke, though his voice still sounded uncharacteristically husky as he spun round again, trying to focus all his attention on the injury. Her ankle was red and swollen, though he could see the lower part of her leg now, too. As calves went, it was surprisingly shapely for someone he remembered as having a boyish figure. She really had changed in that regard, he thought, wrapping the bandage gently around velvet-soft skin. When he’d left she’d still been a girl, whereas now—he risked a glance up at a distractingly full bosom—now she was undoubtedly a woman. The thought was somewhat alarming, making his blood stir and his pulse throb in a way he hadn’t felt for...well, for a considerable amount of time. Years, in fact. The years it had taken for her to grow up...

He tied the ends of the bandage more tightly than he’d intended, irritated by his own errant thoughts. Had he gone quite mad living on his own? She was Lydia’s sister! He didn’t want anything to do with L

ydia—and that included her family—and he definitely didn’t want to be thinking about her sister’s legs, stockinged or otherwise!

‘What did you mean about being late?’ He asked the question to distract himself.

‘Mmm?’ She jerked her head up, looking somewhat startled. She must have been chewing her lip, he noticed, because it looked fuller and redder all of a sudden. Wetter, too, coated with a sliver of moisture...

‘In the yard you said that you had to go or you’d be late.’ He cleared his throat again, more forcefully this time. ‘Late for what?’

‘Oh, I forgot. I meant for the tide. The sea will be up to the cliffs in another hour. If I don’t hurry, then I won’t make it back to Whitby before dark.’

‘You mean you walked here along the beach?’

‘Yes.’ She seemed nonplussed by the question. ‘It’s not far, but I really ought to hurry.’

‘It’s a good mile and I doubt you could hobble as far as the village tonight. You shouldn’t put any weight on that foot for a few days.’

‘A few days?’